Rejection
by funky pink high top
Summary: Lizzie doesn't understand her feelings, but she does know them. minor /.


"Don't you dare!," I shrieked, dashing away from my best friend on the green turf. I slipped, my pearly white tennis shoes failing me once again. I couldn't move, either from a broken ankle or uncontrollable laughter. Maybe both.  
"Are you okay?," Miranda kneeled next to me, laughing. I grabbed her warm arm and pulled her onto the wet grass too. We just couldn't stop laughing, leaving the hose to keep the water flowing gently into the already wet soil.  
Laughter. Sometimes I think it just covers up the real events that are going on. I look at Miranda's face, wrinkled with a smile, her eyes silently winking at me...  
There was a new tension, I discovered, between me and Miranda. I felt it in the air when ever I saw her. I tried to hide it, but it was something that perfume and cover-up can't conceal. I don't have the power to change it.  
I tried to convince myself, at first, it was because of my renewed friendship with Kate. But it wasn't. It absolutely wasn't.  
I was in love with Miranda Sanchez.  
It was subtle at first. Whenever we touched, I got a strange shivering feeling like it was very wrong. Bad, Lizzie, bad!  
But now, whenever I see her, I want to cry my heart aches so much. I feel my eyes water slightly as I lie in bed at night, thinking of her.. Only her.  
It's wrong, though. I'm supposed to be married to Gordo after college, and we'll have little blonde kids that run around and get good grades and set good examples. His brains and my compassion.  
So why did I feel this way?  
I'm not the type of girl who falls for other girls. I'm just not. I fawn over cute guys, ignoring the ones that really deserve my full attention. I'm not supposed to be a... be a.. well, you know!  
I find myself mindlessly staring at her sometimes. We'll sit there, studying, and I can't concentrate. She smells like peaches and oranges and mangoes.. And her eyes! They were so warm.. They had little flecks of light in them that sparkled when she was happy. I usually just pluck at my pink feathered pen, staring off into her lips.  
"What?," She'll ask, shifting uncomfortably. I'll smile and shake my head and go back to my notes... for a while.  
I don't study with her anymore.  
Had a strange dream last night. I was lying on a cloud or something, staring up at a starry sky. The kind of starry sky they have in made-for-TV movies on Greek mythology. I was also naked.  
And then Miranda came, dressed in this long, silk, white dress, carrying my pink feathered pen. I tried to cover myself, but it didn't work. She then signed her name on my body. She disappeared, dropping my pen and letting it fall down millions of miles onto the ground.  
I wrote that in my dream journal, but then I just threw it away. Along with my pink feathered pen.  
Lying there, on the grass, laughing and soaking, I just wanted to reach out to her. I let a tentative hand float in the air... then put it down.  
No. She must never know. No one must ever know. I know what would happen if I told.  
I can picture it now. Glares in the locker room, freaked out looks in the ladies' room. Awkward silences and shifted glances.  
I can't take the silence. I want to shatter the glass that's holding me from the truth, but I can't take the silence. The echoing quiet that rings in your ears hours after. That rings in your heart years after.  
I'll die, I really will. I'll die before I tell. I'll rot under the soil, the soil we fell and laughed on, with a tombstone as my head rest. And on that tombstone, cast in stone, it will say:  
Elizabeth Brooke McGuire  
Loved Miranda Sanchez  
Romantically  
It will be proven then. Everyone will know. Miranda will know, and cry at my grave because she never got the chance she deserved.  
And then, watching from heaven (or hell), I'll laugh. I'll laugh and cover the real event with mock happiness. And I'll cry and let my tears fall on their un-accepting minds.  
They won't understand. She won't understand. And I certainly will never understand.  
"What?," Miranda looks at me, her eyes still laughing. I open my mouth for a moment but close it and smile.  
"Nothing," I say. Nothing.  
Nothing forever.  
~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~  
A/N: Yes, this follows the same basic plot line of Secluded and Obscured.. But don't they all?  
"L'amour est un oiseau rebelle  
  
Que nul ne peut apprivoiser  
  
Et c'est bien on vain qu'on l'appelle  
  
S'il lui convient de refuser."  
- The opera Carmen 


End file.
